


Reforget (I go out just so I can)

by hanjisungsslut



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous Relationships, Bang Chan is a Good Friend, Bookstores, But Also like 22, Fluff, Humor, Infinity Stones, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Not Human, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Thousands of Years Old, Light Angst, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Time Loop, celestial beings - Freeform, hyunlix if you squint, repeating day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29392671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanjisungsslut/pseuds/hanjisungsslut
Summary: The day starts normally for nineteen-year-old Korean-American boy, Han Jisung. After an entirely ordinary day of classes, meeting his roommate’s new boyfriend, and small mishaps throughout his day, it concludes as a perfectly uninteresting day.Until it isn’t.When Han Jisung wakes up to find the day repeating, he is trapped in a nightmare. Only one other person in town sees to recognize his dilemma, but deception and half-truths lead to a much bigger revelation. Every day, he wakes up to repeat.He goes out just so he can reforget.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65
Collections: SKZ Jukebox Fest Round One





	Reforget (I go out just so I can)

**Author's Note:**

> This is for SKZJUKEBOX, I hope you all enjoy it well! I’ll add more details once reveals are posted, but for now, have fun! 
> 
> Their twitter:  
> https://twitter.com/skzjukeboxfest?s=21

It’s December 4th.

The crisp cold lingers in the air around the patrons of New York, promising snowfall by evening. The sun has just greeted the city over the horizon, bidding the moon goodbye as it returns to its other side. The people who crowd the streets do not worry about the day, only the time. 

It’s six in the morning.

Red numbers flash on an electronic screen, a horrible dull scream erupting as soon as the clock turns over. A groan fills the room alongside it, escaping the throat of a nineteen-year-old Korean-American boy named Han Jisung. 

The blankets hug his skin and encase him in a warmth he basks in, bleary eyes blinking against the harshness of yellow sunlight streaming in through his curtains. Like every morning, he wishes he had bought darker ones.

The sweat he's accumulated through the night makes his reluctant welcome of the outside world all the more off-putting. His bare feet retract from the cold hardwood floor of his bedroom. The thought crosses his mind like it does every morning, the silent debate of skipping his seven AM lecture, but he pushes it down. He has his last final of the week today.

It doesn’t start off wonderful.

Upon getting to the bathroom, he finds his toothpaste empty and rummages through the cabinets for a good ten minutes before he finds an extra tube. His shower turns cold five minutes in and he frantically washes the rest of his aching body. The only clothes that aren’t dirty are a pair of jeans too tight and a black shirt with a spot of green paint. 

Felix, his beloved roommate, is cooking breakfast in the kitchen when he enters, the smell of eggs and toast a warm greeting. He eats the breakfast sandwich with many compliments to the chef, before taking his leave at exactly 6:42. 

The bus he rides to campus has to stop to pick up passengers of another bus that broke down on the expressway, making him just a few minutes behind schedule. A kid trips on his shoelace and nearly sends both him and Jisung down the stairs as they exit. 

His pencil is missing when he gets to his class, the same pencil he always leaves in his bag. Weird. Luckily, the kid next to him is nice enough to lend him one. 6:54. Jisung takes advantage of the extra six minutes he’s been given to study what he couldn't last night. 

He leaves the building at 10:04 and for once, he isn’t worried about his performance. Several hours spent bent over a desk have paid off it seems, and he rewards himself with a trip to his favorite bakery.

Chan is working today, his favorite employee because he always puts extra espresso shots in Jisung’s coffee. He orders his usual drink and a strawberry pastry as a treat. 

“I like the new hair color,” Chan says, with a vague gesture at Jisung’s freshly dyed blond, “it looks nice on you.”

Jisung thanks him and takes his treats back to his dorm, where he enjoys them in relative silence as he waits for Felix to return. In the meantime, he takes a short nap and is awakened by his roommate standing over him and shaking his shoulder.

There’s a boy beside Felix, one Jisung has never met before. His roommate introduces the boy as Hyunjin, his boyfriend, and he proposes they all grab dinner together tonight as celebration. Jisung agrees.

His mother calls around two, complaining to him that she and his father will be staying in a hotel for a little while, because the pipes at their house busted. Jisung just hums and asks which hotel, though he knows he won’t be going. He had never been close with his family and now that he doesn’t see them everyday, small talk gets a little harder.

He washes his clothes in the dorm laundry room, but he discovers one of his white shirts ended up in the reds and is now a pastel pink. He doesn’t mind it, he likes pink.

A black button-up does the trick for his third-wheeling date with Hyunjin and Felix. They eat at a nice restaurant, Felix’s choice, and Jisung finds himself getting along quite well with Hyunjin. He feels just a short pang of jealousy.

Excusing himself to the bathroom, he finds himself standing outside in the alleyway of the restaurant, staring up at the dark abyss of a sky. He watches as snow flurries begin to fall and he catches one in his hands as the delicate shape fades to nothing.

Something crashes into him and he stumbles, gripping the wall for support. 

“I’m sorry.” A voice says and Jisung looks up to see a man in a black hoodie covering his eyes staring down at him. They are glinting in the streetlights, like they hold the stars themselves, stealing them right from the sky.

“It’s alright.” He says and offers a small smile. The man grins back and then vanishes to the other end of the alleyway, leaving Jisung alone in the dark.

They split the check and Felix and Hyunjin have plans to go get drinks after. They extend the offer to Jisung, but his body and tired eyes won’t allow it and he bids them both goodnight. 

On the way back home, he walks in silence, letting the snow flurries crowd around him and cling to him. Their apartment isn’t a far walk. 

He all but throws his clothes off the moment he sees his bed and belatedly realizes he must have left his window open. The room is freezing, and he slams it shut with a sigh before crawling under the sheets. Sleep takes him without much protest and without dreams.

It was an uneventful, regular day. 

Until it isn’t. 

+++

It’s December 4th.

Wait. That can’t be right, can it?

Yesterday was December 4th, so today is December 5th.

It’s (presumably) December 5th when the red flashing numbers on the electronic screen are followed by a horrible and dull screaming. Jisung groans at the sound, reaching over to silence the machine. He thought he turned that alarm off yesterday. 

He falls back into his slumber, wondering if Felix ever returned home or spent his night at his new boyfriend’s house. 

Fifteen minutes later, his roommate is there, aggressively shaking his shoulder and pulling back the covers. He immediately curls into a ball, cold air meeting the sweat on his body.

“Wake up, you idiot!” Felix grabs a pillow, smacking his back with it. Jisung groans again, shoving his roommate again with one hand. “You told me to do this if you tried to sleep in, Sung.”

“I told you to do this if I tried to sleep in and  _ miss my exam. _ ” Jisung groans, his words half muffled by the pillow making contact with his body, “It’s Saturday, exams are over.”

The pillow stops colliding with his body, just long enough for Felix to stare down at him with a pitiful expression. He throws it aside, climbing onto the bed to sit cross legged.

“Poor Jisungie, you must have dreamt that you already took your exam.” His face forms into an exaggerated pout, patting Jisung’s cheek. “It can’t be all that bad, you studied really hard. So, come on.”

Jisung blinks in confusion, but let’s Felix continue pulling him from his sheets. The sweat that stains his body makes the cold air cling to him like a small child, his feet anticipating the chill that runs through him when he steps onto the floor. Did he really dream an entire day? Can you even do that?

He checks the clock and sees glaring red numbers staring back at him. December 4th. Huh. So, he did dream it after all.

It gets weirder when he finds his toothpaste tube empty by the sink. He frowns and throws the empty tube away, remembering where he found the new one in his dream. He figures he must have subconsciously remembered using the last of it last night.

The shower wakes him up a little more, but it turns cold only five minutes in. He finishes washing in confusion, practically jumping out of the chilled water. How did he dream about his roommate using all the hot water? 

Little things make it stranger. Like how neither Dream Jisung nor Real Jisung washed their laundry and only had the too skinny skinny jeans and a paint-stained shirt that was clean. He tries to ignore the weird tingling in the back of his mind when Felix serves him a breakfast sandwich of eggs and toast. 

Once again, he leaves at 6:42 and walks to the bus stop through his disorientation. He's read about cases of deja vu, but he’s never experienced it for himself. There’s an odd feeling associated with it, almost like a haze, like everything around him is fabricated.

The bus picks up passengers again and the kid falls on him for the second time when they’re getting off at the campus stop. He asks the boy next to him for a pencil before he even sits down, remembering he doesn’t have one.

He studies his notes, specifically the questions that tripped him up on the test in his dream. The test passes in the same fashion. It’s formatted the exact same, questions and answers lining up exactly. 

How is that possible? Is he still dreaming? Did one of his late night coffee-influenced pleas for the devil to take his soul in exchange for an A accidentally go through? Is the contract with the devil legally binding if he didn’t sign anything? 

His feet shuffle against the sidewalk, the scuffing noise grounding him in a world that feels like a collective fog. No one around him seems to feel any different, no one seems to feel strange. Perhaps he’s pulled one too many all-nighters.

There isn’t a thought he can manage that explains this at all. Deja vu is one thing, but the exact answers on a test? He’s losing his mind, has to be.

The otherwise peaceful walk to the bakery is now spent in quandary, a sense of unease staining his mind and lining his stomach. A search for comfort, for even a flicker of bewilderment on the face of another, only leaves him apprehensive. The bakery is the same as it always is when he makes his entrance, slow jazz music pouring through the overhead speakers.

His presence is greeted by Chan, who punches in his drink without having to ask. Jisung adds a strawberry pastry to the order, operating as if on autopilot. Subconsciously, he waits for the comment, further proof that he has not lost his mind.

“I like the new hair color.” Chan throws him a megawatt smile, already ducking behind the counter to prepare his drink, “it looks nice on you.”

Dread walks the ridges of Jisung’s spine, but all he manages is a polite grin and a muttered thanks. His mind swims with possibility, clouded by all the warning bells screaming at him that this just doesn’t make any sense. Everything is so off.

He continues home with a half-eaten pastry leftover and settles down on the couch. Hi is mother calls and he listens to her speak without retaining anything. If his prediction is right, Felix won’t be home for a few hours and he won’t be alone when he returns. Exhaustion wins Jisung’s favor and he gives into the nap that keeps pulling at his eyes. A part of him hopes that when he awakens, this wretched nightmare will have ceased to exist. 

Needless to say, that doesn’t happen in the slightest and he is awakened by the subtle shaking on his shoulder. Felix stands above him, eyes shining when he gazes at the boy at his right. Even in a sleep clouded gaze, Jisung remembers his manners and welcomes the boy with a small smile. He accepts the invitation to dinner yet again.

He isn’t surprised to find the pink shirt in the wash, thoroughly inspecting it for any spots left untouched. The black shirt he wore in the dream calls to him once more and he figured he should commit to following the day all the way through. He’s seen enough movies to know never to mess with predictions like that.

The dinner is fine, as it had been in the dream as well. He feels awkward, inexperienced compared to his friend and the boy he already seems to be head-over-heels for. He cannot imagine ever looking at someone the way Felix’s eyes trace Hyunjin’s face, drinking in his every feature. Jisung can’t imagine another looking at him in similar fashion.

On cue, he excuses himself from the table and remembers the feeling of fresh air rushing through his lungs. The stars shine above him, forever consistent in their burning. There isn’t much one can count on to always be present in this world, but the stars will always burn, whether they can be perceived by the human eye or not, they always burn. 

A moment too late, he remembers this alleyway, remembers the body that will collide with his own. As soon as the thought passes through his mind, he meets the concrete, a hand darting out to pull him to his feet. The hood came down this time, the force of the hit just a bit harder than he remembered it being in the dream.

He was right to see the night sky reflected in this man’s eyes, right to assume he was beautiful beyond their world. Jisung has never seen a human being so ethereal, he’s entranced by the wild stare and lines of this person’s face. The warmth of their hand leaves Jisung’s empty and cold when they release him. 

“I’m sorry.” The man speaks, voice soft and smooth. There is an elegance to him, to the way he speaks like he is not of their time. Only two words have exited his mouth and yet there is poise about him. 

“It’s alright.” Jisung smiles, hands brushing off the thighs of his pants despite the lack of dirt present, “It’s been quite a strange day, I wasn’t paying attention.”

The original dialogue from his dream didn’t include that, but a single creative liberty can’t harm the universe too much, right? Besides, the man in front of him does not seem to be like most people, a resemblance of the perplexity Jisung feels mirrored in his sturdy gaze.

“Yes, it has been. Like deja vu.” 

The hood falls back over his face, concealing the top portion in its shade. Even in the black void, his eyes shine through in a way that makes them look inhuman. The man exits the alley before another word can be spoken and Jisung stands there for longer than necessary to collect his thoughts. He needs to finish this day in order to wake up from this nightmare.

He declines the offer to go drinking, following the path of his night’s ending to every exact detail. Every crosswalk he waited at in the dream, he waits at now. Every small gesture he made, a smile or a wave at a shopkeeper, transfers into the gestures he makes on the way down his street. He even takes his clothes off before shutting the window, the same way he did before.

Jisung shuts his eyes the moment his head is framed by his pillow and he silently bids the world and this nightmare a goodnight and drifts off into his unconscious slumber.

+++

The sound starts out small, like a growing irritation in the back of his mind. Caught between his dreamless sleep and awareness of the world around him, the noise seems to get louder with everything lethargic second that passes. At first, he can’t place the sound at all, then the realization hits all too fast.

Jisung shoots up in bed to the sound of his alarm clock booming by his ear, red numbers beaming on the small screen. Without thought, he grabs at the clock, his numb fingers wrapped around the exterior and bringing it to his face. The date is illuminated in small numbers at the bottom, mocking him as it states him in the face.

It’s December 4th. Again. 

Legs caught between the sheets and the duvet, Jisung trips over several layers of fabric before he is able to stumble into the bathroom. His own petrified expression peers back at him, traces of horror clearly found in the whites of his eyes. His hand blindly feels around for the toothpaste, palm coming in contact with an empty tube. 

Mind completely blank and body nearing paralyzed, he once again tangles himself in the large mass of blankets on his floor. His freed feet carry him to the desk chairs where his closet takes place. He shuffles through his clothes, finding only the same paint-splattered shirt and skinny jeans as the same two days before. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until there is an ache in his throat and Felix is shaking him.

“Dude, come on. I know it’s finals day but you’re seriously fine. You studied all night for the past week.” Felix sighs, patting his friend on the shoulder, “You'll be fine.”

“This isn’t happening.” The muttered string of words begins to break past his lips, further straining his throat, but he doesn’t seem to care. “This isn’t happening, no. No, this—this doesn’t make any sense. I’m going crazy.”

“Just take a deep breath, yeah? It’ll all be over before you know it.” His shoulder is squeezed and then Felix’s presence retreats from the room. Jisung can do nothing but stare blankly at his clothing, mind completely and utterly blank of all thought. 

What was once boiled down to a weird sense of deja vu has turned into Jisung’s own personal nightmare. What is happening to him? Why is he the only one that can remember this day?

Before he knows it, he’s in the kitchen, watching Felix make the egg and toast sandwich and hum along to a nonexistent tune. Shakily, he rushes to the counter, still dressed in his pajamas.

“I know it sucks, Ji, but you have to go take your final. You’ll be fine, I promise—“

“Felix.” Jisung interrupts, unable to keep his mouth shut for another moment longer, “Felix, I— Something is really wrong.”

“With you?” Felix cocks his head to the side, eyes drifting to the corner the way he does when he’s thinking hard, “Are you sick? Don’t tell me you’re sick, Jisung.”

“No, well, maybe. I don’t know. But, Felix.” He leans over the counter, his sporadic gestures leading his roommate to subconsciously back away from his outstretched hand. His worried eyes flit between it and Jisung’s face. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, but this— this is fucking insane.”

The pan Felix had been shocked eggs out of us sat down on the stovetop, still sizzling with grease and butter. The freckled boy observes him with a careful eye.

“Jisung, you’re acting pretty weird. Are you sure you’re not sick? Maybe we should take you to the doctor.”

“No!” They both flinch from his sudden outburst, “I’m—I’m fine but… God. I’m losing it.”

His face buried in his hands, Jisung’s breathing quickens. Panic rises in his chest, kept at bay by the soothing hand rubbing circles into his back. Maybe he  _ is _ losing his mind. 

“Slow down. Tell me what’s going on, slowly.” His roommate makes sure to speak slow and quiet, as if he were comforting a child. Forcing his breathing to even out, Jisung removes his trembling hands from his head.

“ Something is off. I’ve—I've already lived this day. Twice.” He stares down at the plate in front of him, “I thought it was weird but maybe it was just a dream but then… I woke up and it’s starting all over again.”

“Like deja vu?” 

“Yes, but… it’s not. It’s the same day over and over again.” 

Felix bites his lip, hand seizing it’s movements on Jisung’s back. Jisung feels like a lunatic, spewing this crazy theory that he’s somehow trapped in the same random and insignificant day. He can’t figure out for the life of him what may have brought this on.

“You have been doing a lot of the same stuff repetitively these days,” Felix sighs, patting Jisung on the back again, “I can understand how it feels like it just all runs together, like you’re living the same day.”

“No, it’s not because of that. I mean, it’s actually the same day. All the time.” His nails scrape at the marble countertop and any other day, he would scrunch his nose at the sound and make an off-handed comment about his direct deposit. Today, however, he doesn’t think of such things. His mind is occupied and racing, not leaving a second of space for another.

His chin is tilted up by a soft hand, the worried eyes of his roommate boring into his own. Concern emits off of him, large waves washing over Jisung in a way that makes him dread the words that will leave his roommate’s mouth. He thinks he’s crazy, and with good reason to, but Jisung knows he isn’t. 

“I’m going to call the doctor.”

“No!” Jisung grasps Felix’s wrist, tugging it closer to his own body. The action forces him to press into the counter, stomach trapped against the cold marble. Felix stares at him with eyes blown wide, his free hand halfway to the phone that sits just to their right. Jisung loosens his grip.

“I’m fine. I’m going to class now, I’m sure it’s just a weird reaction to sleep deprivation or something.” Backing away from the counter as slow as he can manage, Jisung doesn’t wait around for Felix to call someone. He leaves the apartment in his pajamas, hands threaded in his hair and tugging harshly at the strands. He didn’t dream anything, he’s absolutely sure of that much. However, the look on Felix’s face would only be paralleled by any doctor who checked him out and a mental hospital does not go in accordance to the plans today.

He boards the bus, already expecting the small delay for the other passengers and stepping out of the way just in time to catch the kid who nearly busts his face on concrete. However, he doesn’t think for even a moment about going to take his final, his feet carrying him in the opposite direction. The bakery shop comes into view and before Jisung knows it, he’s standing inside with messy hair and peach pajama pants hanging off his thin legs.

Chan greets him nonetheless, not missing a beat but not failing to notice Jisung’s less than optimal attire. The younger stumbles his way to the counter, shaking hands settling atop it and allowing himself several moments to breathe despite the morning rush behind him. None of the words he babbles are coherent, nor do they strung together a sentence of any kind, but Chan punches in his order as if he is saying anything related to that. 

“It’s on the house.” He says, throwing a rather concerned look at the boy panting in front of him. Gently, his hand grips Jisung’s shoulder and moves him to the left of the order station. 

While Chan treats the morning rush, Jisung is unable to do anything other than stand silently. The looks he receives are less than friendly and definitely tainted with judgment, but his mind is reeling and he can hardly feel the floor beneath his bare feet. His drink is held in his hand, though he hasn’t actually taken a sip of it.

The rush calms down a few minutes later, giving them a small window to stare at each other. Jisung isn’t sure what to say or how to word it, his miserable attempt at explaining the situation to Felix replaying in his mind. He is sure his roommate will never let him live that down, should he ever get past this day.

“Alright, tell me what happened before the rush begins again.” Chan braces himself against one part of the counter, his t-shirt tightening around his biceps. He regards Jisung with a look of deep worry and the latter knows he can’t lie to him.

“Have you ever heard of a time loop?” His straw squeaks when it drags against the teeth of the lid, shoving back down into the ice a moment later. Chan’s eyebrows pinch together, but he gives a short nod as response. “I think I’m stuck in one.”

The expression on Chan’s face morphs from one of concern to one of utter confusion. Lips pulled into a frown, the barista watched him for a few tense moments, soaking in Jisung’s words, clothing and current state. His mouth opens to formulate a response, more than likely a laugh or an impossible question, but the noise around Jisung suddenly comes to a stop.

Chan’s mouth moves but nothing comes out to his ears. Background noises fade into nothing, the jazz music he's come to associate with this shop becoming a distant buzz. Jisung watches the world around him continue to move, without anything happening.

Just as he begins to panic about his lack of sound, his vision blurs. The edges of his sight begin to distort, like the images are being twisted and moved about, the main image in front of him unmoving. Chan’s figure blurs once again and Jisung notices the way his mouth stops and his eyes bulge. His nose is suddenly wet. 

He tastes it before he sees it staining the top of his shirt. Blood drips from his nose in a steady and unbroken stream, curling around his chin and dropping onto the floor. He looks up again to see Chan frantically grabbing napkins, hand extended to Jisung.

Everything goes black.

+++

The distinct hum of the ceiling fan in his apartment is what welcomes Jisung back to the world around him. He’s stuck in a limbo of sorts, floating between consciousness and the hard grasp his sleep has on him. Muffled talking interrupts any temptation to once again give into the bliss.

He blinks his eyes open, the afternoon glow streaming in from the back window lighting up the room. Casted in bright yellow, the cool toned living room appears much more inviting than it usually is. Perhaps this is an aspect that has contributed to the equally unusual amount of people standing around. 

A dull throb at the back of his head slows his movements, shaking numbness from his limbs as he sits up. Three pairs of eyes watch him with inquisitive gazes, a million questions left unanswered in the silence. He doesn’t have the energy to answer them, doesn’t know if he even has answers to them.

The first to rush over is Felix, an uncapped bottle of water held between his fingers. It is all but shoved into Jisung’s face and he politely takes a few sips to ease the scratch in his throat. Though it could have only been a few hours, he feels as though he’s slept for an eternity. 

“Don’t try to sit up too fast, your nose might start bleeding again.” The quiet words from Felix make Jisung hyper-aware of the sticky feeling under his nose. Subconsciously, he reaches his hand up and touches it, finding nothing but dried blood.

“We couldn’t stop the bleeding no matter what we did, we thought you were dying.” Chan said, his arms folded over his chest and staring at Jisung like he had grown a second head, “Then, it just randomly stopped.” 

The third pair of eyes belong to Hyunjin, whom Jisung is belatedly reminded that he is not supposed to know yet. His reminder comes in the form of a shy wave and a nervous chuckle from the boy himself, sinking deeper into the recliner to make himself invisible. 

“Your mom called, they’re staying at a hotel nearby due to some leaking pipes.” Felix continues without noticing Jisung’s odd acceptance of a boy he doesn’t know standing in his apartment. He hesitates, attempting to gauge Jisung’s reaction to the information, “You should go see them.”

The glare that immediately takes Jisung’s face is heavy and filled with an emotion akin to anger. Both of them know Jisung could never be actually angry with Felix, but he refuses to actually seem considerate of the proposal. His roommate throws his hands up in silent apology, plopping one of those wooden trays in his lap and setting the food on it.

“Here.” Chan leans over with a baby wipe, cleaning the blood streaks from Jisung’s mouth and nose. A wave of guilt and embarrassment washes over him, his face heating up when he realizes he is being cleaned like a toddler. His hand swats at Chan’s playfully and snatched the wipe to finish the work.

The silence in the room is hardly comfortable, but Jisung refuses to call it awkward. Felix and Chan know each other and from the comfort among the three of them, he seems to know Hyunjin as well. There is no reason for any of them to feel awkward around Jisung—save for maybe Hyunjin. His cheeks are full when he finally sets down his chopsticks, making eye contact with each of them three standing around.

“I’m fine, really. I can’t tell you what happened, but I feel fine.” It is a little bit of a lie, but most of it is the truth. He doesn’t know what happened exactly and he does actually feel pretty alright. “I’ll go see my parents later. Just let me eat and get washed up.”

It seems to be enough for them, quiet conversation picking up around him as he finishes the kimchi pasta. Every once in a while, he can feel Felix’s burning gaze at the back of his head, but he never meets his eye. His episode this morning is probably not helping his sale of being fine, but he’ll continue to stick to that for now.

There’s a thousand unanswered questions in all of their brains by the time Jisung finishes his meal, taking the liberty to wash the dishes himself to avoid the conversation. He has no such luck when Felix follows him to the kitchen.

“You sure you don’t want someone to take you to the doctor?” 

“I’m fine, Felix.” He sends him a half smile, trying to ignore the pinch in his roommate’s eyebrows. “I’m just stressed out. Once all the finals are done, I’m sure things will be back to normal.”

He is not sure of that in the slightest. The final in question has been completed the past two days, however he remains stuck in this loop of time. The reason for it cannot be found in any of his memories from the last week, nothing he can supply himself with. 

“I’m sorry for answering the phone when you weren’t awake. I didn’t know it was your mom.” Felix chews his bottom lip, his eyes wide and apologetic when Jisung turns to him. It makes him want to coo and hug him to his chest, but he has a feeling the boyfriend in the other room wouldn't like that very much. 

“Don’t worry about it. You just go have fun on your date.” 

Felix startles, taken aback by Jisung’s too sly smile and knowing eyes. 

“How did you know?” He whispers, leaning over the counter where he tries to conceal his volume from Hyunjin. The boy is in deep conversation with Chan about some video game and Jisung can see why Felix likes him so much. He’s exactly the type of cheerful person Felix needs, someone enough like himself yet still different.

“I’m very perceptive.” Not entirely a lie, just most of one. Jisung doesn’t waste another moment hanging around to be questioned, instead he slips away to his bedroom and grabs a handful of clothes to change into after he showers. 

Realistically, he is well aware that avoiding a discussion about the situation would never keep him from eventually having it, however he’s banking on the odds being in his favor for once. When the day resets tomorrow, they’ll forget all about what he’s said today. Perhaps he’s doing something wrong and needs to change his course of action for the day, but there isn’t anything he can think of to do. 

Unlike the movies, he isn’t encountering anything specifically strange, isn’t dying at the end of the day that loops it for him. His day seems to be entirely ordinary, just another random date on the calendar. The only significance it has is his final, but he can’t find any reason why that would force him into an impossible time loop. 

He dwells on it for the entirety of his shower, only ceasing his thoughts when the water begins to turn cold. The outfit he picked out isn’t anything special, a pair of black jeans and a blue shirt he stole from Felix’s room. Before he exits, he styles his hair off his forehead and rubs concealer under his eyes. His mother prefers him to keep a clean face, but he knows she would lose her mind if she saw how dark his eye bags were, so he covers them up and fills in his brows and smudges the eyeliner to draw the attention away.

He manages to slip out of the apartment pretty easily, timing his leave while the other three are deep in conversation. 

The bus ride to the hotel isn’t too long, but it feels like it takes ages. The bus is crowded with people, pressed up against each other and definitely pushing maximum capacity. The man behind Jisung practically breathes down his neck and there’s no way for him to shift away without doing the same to the woman in front of him. The fifteen minutes downtown feel like three years.

The hotel itself is large and lavish, a pristine white exterior with glass doors that have been wiped clean with the sweat of the working class. Every person who enters wears at least one thousand dollars on their body, or they sport the uniform of a maid. The hotel does nothing to hide its more than outrageous pricing, showcasing its residents and the pretty pennies they dropped to stay there like a badge of honor. It makes Jisung throw up in his mouth a little.

It sounds ignorant and tone-deaf to complain about, which is why he hardly ever does. He is well-aware of the privilege he grew up with, the almost impossible privilege of going to college without thousands of dollars in student loans over him. Nobody other than Felix knows the amount of money he has sitting in an untapped trust fund that he never intends to open in his life. 

The truth of the matter is, the decisions he makes do not align with the views and ambitions of his parents and their reputation. Luckily, he is the second-born son, the pressure to take over the company resting on his older brother’s shoulders instead, though it doesn’t stop the disapproving eye he receives from his mother when they discuss his life plans. He has long come to terms with the fact that he will never be enough for his family and suddenly, the thought of walking into that building and facing them makes him gag.

His promise to Felix was that he would come, but not that he would stay. As much as he hates to bend the rules of any agreement he makes, he simply cannot stomach the idea of walking through those doors. He makes a promise to himself to tell Felix the truth later, when they aren't joined by two others. 

His feet turn him around and carry him down the sidewalk, far away from his parents and their snooty words. Going home makes the most sense, but he can’t really think much about it as he wanders through the bustling streets, his eye catching every little flicker of a billboard or blinking of a sign. He finds himself drawn to a book store and doesn’t think about it twice before he is pushing open the doors.

The aura of a bookstore is invitingly alluring, tiptoeing on mesmerizing. There's music playing in the background on low volume, always something perfectly describing the situation of whoever walks in. The ringing of the bell on the door seems to be a lot louder than any other bell, like a distant ring that echoes. Fresh coffee brewing at the cafe bar lingers it’s aroma in the air, sticking with a person as they venture throughout the store.

At this particular store, the checkout counter is empty, but Jisung doesn’t mind as he moves deeper into the store. The fantasy section draws his eye and he finds himself staring down the book cover to a story that seems to call to him. It’s a cheesy sci-fi novel with an overly colorful cover and a play on words that obviously mean the book is about time loops. He’s tempted to buy it. 

“It is an interesting read, though I am not sure the ending is something you would like.” A voice comes from right next to his ear, his soul nearly jumping out of his skin. This isle was vacant a moment ago and now he’s flinching at the sound of a smooth voice and a light giggle. 

Glancing over his shoulder at the source of the noise, he finds sparkly eyes staring back at him in amusement. There's familiarity and traces of fondness within them, and Jisung can immediately place where he has seen these eyes before. It’s so hard to forget eyes like these. 

“Oh, why is that?” His voice comes out squeakier than usual and for now, he can blame that on how startled he was. Typically, Jisung is never this flustered, though that isn’t to say he’s very charismatic, he just usually is able to act more indifferent. However, the boy from the alley sets his pretty eyes on the book in front of them and smiles.

“I do not want to spoil the ending for you, but the time loop is not what you think it is and it is a lot to understand.” The boy shrugs, turning around to a cart Jisung has just noticed and selecting a book to place beside the one they’re looking at, “It is not a bad ending, just confusing. I would not have ended it that way, that is all.”

“How would you end a time loop book?” Jisung’s mouth moves without his thoughts supporting and the question is so specific, he’s afraid he just upset the universe. The boy giggles again and selects another book from the cart. 

“People end up in time loops because they failed to do the thing they were supposed to do. The reason the day repeats so many times is because they continue failing to complete that task.” The boy’s hand reaches out, tracing down the spine of the book, “I think it is more a lesson of self-discovery. I believe ending it with that lesson learned would be the best”

His gaze turns on Jisung, who has to clamp his mouth shut as soon as those eyes are looking at him. He doesn’t dare wipe at his mouth, unsure of whether or not he is drooling. The man speaks so elegantly, looks like a god from another realm. Jisung has never seen someone like him.

“What if the character doesn’t know what that thing is? How do they find it?” He continues asking questions, hardly thinking about the answers he can receive from a bookkeeper. The boy doesn’t seem to mind at all, those all-knowing eyes and sly smiles alluding to a knowledge beyond what he should have.

“If it is not something the character is capable of finding themselves, the universe tends to give them a counterpart.” The book he holds in his hand slides into the shelf, fingertips running the lengths of hard and soft book covers alike. “The universe would not task you with something it did not intend for you to solve.” 

There is nothing Jisung can do but blink back. A counterpart? How is he supposed to find a counterpart when nobody seems to notice the repetition? Having to explain the situation every day that it repeats only sounds like a headache, he can’t imagine anything worse.

“Pardon me if I am being too forward, but my shift ends in a few minutes and I am very hungry. Perhaps, we could discuss things further over dinner?” The soft smile that spreads over his face is enough to incline Jisung to say yes. Realistically, he is well aware of the dangers accepting such an offer may bring about, but he is far too invested in this boy’s knowledge of the universe to turn away. 

“That sounds great.” He grins back brightly, observing the smirk on the other’s face, almost as if he knew Jisung would agree. He boils it down to nothing, choosing to not let his mind run wild. He thumbs the spine of one of the books the boy sat down, letting him return to his duties as a keeper. 

The shop doesn’t see many more faces other than his own, perhaps one or two inquiries about a book come over the phone, but nothing in person. Not wanting to eavesdrop, he tunes out of the conversation that he assumes is the bookkeeper explaining the plot of a book. The shelves are welcoming, almost daring as he walks them, fingers dancing their spines and judging their faces. 

True to his word, the bookkeeper approaches after a few minutes of aimless wandering, puffy white sweater hidden beneath the dark hoodie Jisung recognizes. His aura has shifted, the friendliness and near child-like gaze giving way into something more knowing, more mature. He looks at Jisung as if he holds all the answers, as if it’s his mission to find them. Jisung can’t possibly imagine what knowledge he has to offer this man.

“Shall we?” The bookkeeper holds his hand out to the door, a clear invite for Jisung to exit the shop first. The formality in his words and expressions are puzzling to say the very least, but Jisung has long since stopped questioning such things. Perhaps it is his lack of formalities that is strange. 

The moment patterned carpet gives way to concrete, the keeper’s hood flops over his face, shielding it from the world’s view. It’s colder than usual, and the sun has taken its leave and the moon shines high. It will snow soon. 

As a belated safety measure, he drops his location to Felix and Chan in a text message, making sure the exact address is correct. The trust and familiarity he feels around this man is unsettling in itself, but he would hate to break his cycle with his own death. It isn’t a risk he’s willing to take before he has answers.

The restaurant he’s led to is a hole in the wall amongst high-end dining. The owners are overly friendly, almost desperate for business, but they’re kind and attentive and make the place feel more like home. The tables and chairs are of lower quality, but Jisung genuinely doesn’t mind when the food is brought out with so much care and gratitude.

“I suppose you would like to know my name.” It is not a question, though phrased as if it was. The keeper taps his fingers on the table, staring into a large bowl of soup that Jisung has never tried before. Half of his face is still shadowed by the hood.

“It would probably make things a little less weird.” An awkward chuckle follows the comment. Jisung slightly winces when the man raises his head, his one visible—yet, incredibly beautiful—eye catching his own. This man’s gaze is anything but menacing.

“You may call me Minho.” He folds his sleeve over his hand, never coming into direct contact with the end of the utensil. “I am the Keeper.”

“Nice to meet you, Minho.” The shake in his voice is evident and he manages to lock down on his control before he speaks again, “I’m Jisung.”

Minho smiles, bringing the spoon to his lips and soundlessly slurping the liquid off the spoon. It seems to disappear in thin air and Jisung blames his tired eyes and brain on the thought. Minho blinks at him in the same way a cat blinks at their victim before pouncing. 

The soft clank of the spoon hitting the bottom of the bowl is the only sound for a few very long minutes. It isn’t exactly an awkwardness, for both of them seem fairly relaxed, but it is far from comfortable. They move around each other almost on autopilot, as if their bodies know the direction the other person goes and plans accordingly. It doesn’t make any sense, but nothing in this world seems to.

“The thing about time, Jisung,” Minho inspects the spoon held between his fingers, the glare of the overhead light reflecting off of it, “is that it is sensitive, yet complicated. You can not mess with it, but can not stop it either. It is always running.”

“Is time not stopped during a time loop?” Jisung’s hands fold themselves on the table, his body leaned over the surface. Time loops don’t seem to come with rules, not that he would follow a guideline as is, but there has to be some method. He refuses to believe the universe just hates him this much.

“No. Time is repeated in a time loop, but every day in the loop is not the exact same.” Minho reclines in his seat, fingers tracing the rim of the bowl, “I think a time loop is a nice learning opportunity for some. I think it can shed light on things that were otherwise invisible.”

Another question is just on the tip of Jisung’s tongue, but his thought is haunted by the sudden ringing in his left ear. It starts small and inconvenient at best, but the ringing only grows in pitch and volume. His hand clutches the side of his head, trying to block out the shrill noise that seems to come from inside his ear. Minho stares at him, unblinking and unconcerned. 

His hand becomes ten times hotter and he retracts it from his ear almost immediately. Thick blood coats his palm and fingers, the uncomfortable squelch of his blood-soaked collar against his skin forcing a cringe down his spine. Fearful eyes turn to Minho’s cold ones and they are the last sight he sees before he hits the floor.

Distantly, he can hear voices around him speak in calm and even tones, unbothered by him. He hears what they’re saying, but can hardly process a word of it.

“He isn’t ready.” The voice sounds eerily similar to the shop owner, deeper and less desperate than he previously heard.

“It’s day three, give him a chance.” This voice sounds like Minho.

“It took Youngsoo six days.”

“He has yet to reach day six.”

The next time he awakes is to the dull scream of his alarm clock and a blank ceiling that mocks his every thought. 

+++

Unsurprisingly, Han Jisung once again wakes to the unceremonious blare of his alarm clock and the same soaked covers clinging to his slick body. A dull ache in the very center of his head has him squinting against the bright sun, burying his face deep into the covers. The ringing in his ear is gone, but the pain he felt lingers. 

Another fifteen minutes passes before Felix is storming in, ripping the pillow from beneath Jisung’s head and preparing to assault him with it. He stops short of his task, the pillow already in the air. Immediately, it drops to the floor and the cold back of Felix’s hand is against his forehead. 

“Dude! You’re burning up.” The chill moves from his forehead to his cheek, pressing gently into the skin, “There’s no way you’re going in today. I’ll email your professor.”

Unable to formulate any other response, Jisung simply groans. The previous days events swim in his mind and the headache gets stronger the more he thinks about it. Minho is an odd person, with eyes that seem to know far too much yet say so little. He’s an enigma, an unsolvable puzzle. The way he watched with a dead expression as Jisung collapsed on the floor, as if he expected it, as if he knew—

_ Shit.  _ That fucking hurts.

Felix comes back a few moments later, a plate in his hands and a cup of tea. The soft pads of his feet sound like bombs to Jisung’s raging head, but he accepts the act of kindness gratefully. The covers around him begin to feel like hot rock, scorching his bare skin.

He downs most of the tea, not paying any attention to the way it burns his tongue. The breakfast is gone within seconds as well, shoved down his throat without tasting a single bite of it. With his meal consumed, he throws the covers off his body and rolls over, falling back into a sleep that relieves his head. 

The steady stream of light through his window once again interrupts his slumber. His body doesn’t feel nearly as warm as it had when he fell asleep and the headache has lifted by now. The table beside his bed has been cleared, a small sticky note in its place. 

_ Stepped out for a bit. Feel better. :) - Lixie. _

The clock reads a quarter until one and Jisung’s fatigued body threatens to toss him back onto the mattress as he attempts to haul himself up. Pressing to his feet, the usual cold sting on the bottom of his feet is only intensified by his body temperature. It feels like he’s treading over ice cubes.

He doesn’t have to think about it very hard to know that he does not want to be here when Felix returns, no doubt with his boyfriend trailing behind. His first memory of Jisung—though he’ll make a new one tomorrow—shouldn’t be a shell of who he actually is, grossly sweating and in a far worse mood than he ever is normally.

The shower water seems to wake him up just a bit more, the cold water feeling like heaven as it runs down his body. Almost as if he can feel the waves of heat rolling off his back, he stands under the water for far too long until his back is red from the chill. He jots down a half-assed excuse on the sticky note to leave on the counter and throws on the same skinny jeans and stained t-shirt pairing he’s been imprisoned to. 

The city seems to be ten times louder when he’s sensitive to every little noise. It clouds his brain and thoughts, preventing him from thinking anything coherent. He has no idea where he’s going, only that he’s on a bus and he’s heading in the direction of his campus. He doesn’t have time to think about kids tripping over the last step or college finals that would  _ murder  _ his grade should this day suddenly stop repeating. 

His feet carry him down a long and unfamiliar street, deep in the inner city and far from where his university is. Mindlessly wandering, he allows his feet to map the streets beneath him, only recognizing where he is once that little bookstore comes into view. Through the window, he can spot that same sweater.

All of a sudden, his headache grows in intensity and he swallows hard the moment he sees Minho carefully rearranging a stack of books on a cart. Every bone in his body screams at him to turn around and just go home, but his feet have a different idea and they carry him right across the street to the little shop. 

Minho looks up at his entry, wide eyes still just as dubious and knowing as they had always been. Belatedly, Jisung realizes that he has absolutely nothing sane to say and his headache is not allowing for a witty comment to present itself. He feels stupid and aching in equal parts.

“Oh.” Minho says with a slight giggle in his words, “You have returned.”

Every bit of his mind blanks and he’s left staring at the keeper with nothing short of a dumb expression. A slight ache in his jaw tells him his mouth has been open the entire time, nothing falling from it. Minho tilts his head, hardly attempting to conceal his laughter as he observes Jisung’s state. The mirth is each laugh brings a warm feeling to Jisung’s chest and cheeks, one that has nothing to do with his sudden illness. He will blame it on that anyway.

“When does your shift end?” He forgets for a moment that the day has reset, that he isn’t supposed to know Minho and Minho isn’t supposed to know him for sure. Certainly, he won’t recognize him. But his pain distracts him, filling all of his senses. Perhaps this is the exact reason he doesn’t notice the way Minho doesn’t falter in the slightest bit.

“Not for a while.” The assumed elder speaks with a light shrug. His frame is swallowed whole by the sweater he sports, his body swimming in the endless fabric that reaches near his knees. It makes him look softer, approachable, a direct contrast to the black hoodie and downright terrifying expression he wears in the night. He waves the book in his hands in front of Jisung’s face, dragging his attention back to their conversation.

“You could stay here until it does. I could use a little help shelving the books, if you did not mind.” The Keeper flashes those pearly whites at him. There’s something so alluring about his smile, almost like a trace that forces Jisung’s mouth to form the word “yes.” All it takes is a single look to completely wipe Jisung’s brain of any and all thoughts. It would be concerning if he was in any way comprehending the events around him.

Mindlessly trailing after the other, Jisung finds them weaving through the aisles quickly, never once doubling back to an aisle they’ve already passed. Minho shelves the books as if he has already placed every single one before, memorizing how many there are and which ones have gone where. He doesn’t need Jisung’s help, doesn’t ask him even once for assistance. 

“How long have you been working here?” He finds himself making a lame attempt at conversation, awkwardly bouncing on his heels and feeling useless. Minho hums, tracing the spine of the time loop book they had talked about the day before.

“Not long. It is just a job I picked up while I do my other work.” Another book slides in alongside the time loop one, it’s cover green and decorated with gold. The title immediately catches his attention and he’s drawn to it the same way he’s drawn to the boy beside him.

_ The Universal Beings and Who They Are. _

A soft giggle from his left breaks the trance he holds with the book, twisting around so quickly that he cracks a bone in his neck. Minho’s eyebrows are raised in amusement, but he doesn’t comment on Jisung’s strange behavior.

“You know how in  _ The Avengers _ , they showcased the infinity stones?” Minho waits patiently for Jisung’s nod and he grins when it comes, “This book talks about the elements those stones were based on. Things like reality, time, and space. It is so fascinating how powerful each of them are. But a human would never be able to harness the power of even one, let alone all.”

The last sentence falls from his lips in a much deeper tone, something more akin to the darker persona he becomes when the sun sets. Minho’s endless knowledge intrigues Jisung, his wise words and dated speech patterns do not fall unnoticed by the younger. Something about this boy does not seem to make much sense in the terms Jisung understands, but he is so enamored with understanding the terms Minho does make sense in. 

“Is there anyone who can control them?” 

Minho’s eyes dart to him, wistful and calculating. For once, he seems at a loss for a proper response, the pinch between his eyebrows deepening with every second he spends thinking about it. Jisung is about to retract his question when Minho answers.

“Not control. There is someone who balances them, the only being who could handle the strength and power that runs within each of them and especially their power when together. But that being is far from human.” 

“What are they then? A god? An alien?” His knees were beginning to ache from his crouched position, but he didn’t dare move before he got an answer, too afraid of derailing Minho’s train of thought. With every word he spoke, the pain in Jisung’s head intensified, which only made the information seem that much more valuable.

“Some things you must discover on your own, Jisung.” Minho’s smile is gentle, but warning. The younger man knows better than to ask another question and he straightens his posture without another word, following Minho on the rest of his journey throughout the store.

After almost no time at all, Minho leaves to the back and clocks out, coming back with the black hoodie and sweater missing once again. Jisung doesn’t mention it, but he seems to be an entirely different person when he wears it. In the bookstore, he’s soft giggles and the faint smell of tulip. In the outside world, he’s hardened eyes and a deep-set frown covering the lower half of his face. The contrast is just as shocking as it had been the day before.

“Let us go to the park.” He says, already walking in that direction. Even this early in the evening, the sun is beginning to set and the cold beginning to wash in. There’s countless buzzes from his pocket, but Jisung doesn’t bother to check them. 

Minho seems to walk around people as if they don’t exist to him, and he’s hardly ever noticed by someone else. When Jisung brushes past them with less elegance than the elder, he receives fleeting glances and sometimes glares. However, nobody even looks up to glance at Minho. Almost as if they can’t see him.

He stumbles after the man, tempted to reach out and secure his jacket to make sure he doesn’t lose him, but he refrains. The other keeps pace, continuing with a certainty that he is being followed, despite the struggles it causes Jisung to do so. He only stops when they reach the park, falling onto a bench abruptly. Jisung eases into the seat beside him.

“New York is so extravagant.” Minho speaks like someone who has seen the lights of a thousand cities, so many that he ought to have lost appreciation for them. But instead he sits in awe, watching the colors fade in and out of one another and blur across the night sky from where the snow around them falls. Those same colors that seem to be trapped in his gaze, absorbed by a black iris. 

“It’s certainly something.” Jisung says. He’s seen the finer parts of New York, dove head first into every attraction and monument he’s ever heard of. He’s seen it and he’s learned that the beautiful parts are a charade. No one likes each other in the beautiful parts, their relationships are made of glass and their smiles fraudulent. No one lives in the beautiful parts. They may have a home, one of their very many, but they aren’t, by any definition, living.

He’s found true happiness inside a pastry shop that is nearly invisible to those who don’t know it already. Companionship in a college roommate he didn’t speak to for their first three months of rooming together. He’s found hope in the ugliest parts of the city, where nobody knows to go and the names are exchanged in hushed whispers.

He can appreciate the beauty of the city whilst knowing that it is nothing but a deception. 

“You are not happy here?” Minho’s gaze is inquisitive, that same analytical spark that always manages to make Jisung feel microscopic without fail. It’s a loaded question, phrased delicately and without ill intention. It isn’t his tone or his gaze that makes Jisung’s stomach twist, it’s the words.

“I’m not complaining.” He's quick to take the defensive position. Too quick. “I just… feel like there’s more to life than this. I’m not dissatisfied or anything, I have it much better off than most people, I just…”

He can’t finish the sentence, empty space filled by a dot-dot-dot. There is nothing to complain about. He’s going to a great school, has a great best friend, an apartment that he loves. Some people would kill just for even one of the things he has, he doesn’t have anything to complain about.

“Having it slightly better than most does not mean your feelings have been nullified.” Reclining back, Minho stares at the night sky once again, “And you are right. There is more to life than this. You live on one planet out of thousands, in one reality out of millions. There is always more.”

Jisung wonders how a person can be so wise, so well-spoken and intelligent and yet so young. Minho doesn’t appear to be more than three years older than him, and yet, every word uttered from his lips is ancient. Jisung cannot stop thinking about it. That is, until he remembers one sentence in particular.

As if he has read Jisung’s very thoughts, Minho stands, his hood falling over his eyes. Instinctively, Jisung stands as well, a shiver passing through his body. 

“I will see you soon, Jisung.” Minho turns and begins to walk down the street, unnoticed by those around him whose shoulders he nearly clips. Jisung can’t let him get away without an answer to his inquiry.

“Minho?” The elder turns at the call of his name, eyebrows raised, “Earlier, when I came into the bookstore, you said “you’ve returned.” I've never been there. We met today.”

“Did we?” Is all Minho replies, his face splitting into a wide grin, and Jisung is left without another word he can say before Minho disappears down the street and vanishes all together. 

And Jisung stands, processing his many thoughts, before he finds the strength in his frozen legs to carry him home. He doesn’t remember getting off the bus or falling asleep in his bed, but he knows it is where he will awaken when the sun rises.

+++

He’s right. 

It’s December 4th. It’s always fucking December 4th. 

There’s nothing particularly special about this day. There never is. Nothing he does will make the day stop repeating and he’s gotten to a point where it doesn’t even matter anymore. 

It’s the fifth December 4th and he’s learned by now. He can say whatever he wants, do whatever he pleases without consequence. He could attempt to do everything right, but what does it get him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

What is the point of keeping your thoughts to yourself when no one will remember them tomorrow. That’s the reason everyone keeps their true feelings hidden away, because of other people and their reactions. So, why continue to filter every word from your mouth when there won’t be a trace of it the next morning, when you wake up and it’s still December fucking 4th.

The setting is exactly the same as every morning. He wakes up to the blaring alarm and flashing red numbers that make his skin crawl. He gets out of a bed with damp sheets and skin far too moist for the temperature of his room. The floor is cold, as his shower will be and as the air outside will feel even with six layers on.

The thing that makes him snap is the most minimal background thought of the entire day. That fucking green splatter on his t-shirt. 

Jisung isn’t going to class.

He walks right out the front door in his pinecone pajamas as his roommate calls after him, skipping the elevator for the stairs. He boards the bus and doesn’t falter when the kid behind him faceplants on the ground. He heads to Chan’s pastry shop and doesn’t hesitate to buy the entire selection of strawberry pastries. Then, he heads to the bookstore.

The thought crosses his mind only once. Minho is too comfortable for someone who shouldn’t know him. However, he’s much more relieved to have someone there who understands and he leaves the questions for tomorrow’s December 4th.

Around two when the pastries are mostly gone and Minho excuses himself to the back for another box of books, Jisung’s phone rings. He’d forgotten about it, forgotten what it means and picked it up without thought.

“Hello?”

“Hello, darling. Why do you sound like you have just gotten out of bed?” His mother’s voice is light and friendly, a definite sign that she is faking her kindness, if it could be called that. She asks in a way that makes her sound concerned, but is a thinly masked criticism.

“I always sound like this.” Jisung sighs, wishing he hadn’t answered the phone. Of all the things he was to deal with today, his mother is the last thing he wants.

“Don’t talk back to your mother in that way. I’m calling to let you know that your father and I are in town. We’re staying at a  _ cute  _ little hotel in Manhattan.” 

“Sounds great, Mother.”

“Our pipes busted, can you believe that?” She scoffs. “Anywho, I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tonight.”

“No. I’m not.” His answer is quick, too quick for her liking. 

“I know this is unexpected, but surely you can make time for your parents, Jisung. Don’t be ungrateful.”

For some reason, that is what really sets him off. A boiling pot overflows and the contents spill out. It’s a bloodbath.

“Ungrateful? I’ve never been ungrateful, you’ve never allowed me to be.” He seethes through gritted teeth, “And don't lecture me about making time for you when you can’t name the last time you made time for anything other than the company.”

“Our devotion to the company is the only reason you have been offered so many opportunities, Jisung. Do you understand how many kids would kill to be in your spot?” She's not angry. His mother doesn’t get angry, she doesn’t do emotion. Even in her personal life, she is a business woman at heart.

“I’m not one of your legal troubles. You can’t throw money at me and expect me to go away.” He doesn’t notice Minho walk out from the back the moment the sentence leaves his mouth. He doesn’t notice because his face is red hot with anger and his teeth grind together in concealed anger. He’s more upset than he’s ever been, though perhaps it was long overdue.

“That is unacceptable. Do not speak to me unless it is to apologize.” 

The line goes dead before he has a retort. Jisung sighs, hands dropping to his lap. After five days of absolute mess, he really wasn’t prepared to have  _ that  _ conversation today. A throat clears from beside him and he reluctantly looks up to meet Minho’s eye, who tried to act like he just arrived.

“I am going to clock out early. Would you like sushi?” Minho grins, clearly not accepting no for an answer. It brings a smile to Jisung’s face as well.

“Sounds great.”

+++

On the sixth day, Jisung doesn’t wake up angry. 

He doesn’t wake up arms swinging, doesn’t wake up with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. He doesn’t wake up feeling anything. He should be used to it by now, it’s the sixth time running the course of the same day, but he doesn’t feel anything at all when the alarm blares and the duvet suffocates him.

Jisung lies there for several minutes, the annoying screaming in the background not phasing him one bit. A blank ceiling stares back at him, mockingly. And he just lies there, doing nothing.

The sound apparently alerts his roommate, who walks in after twenty minutes of the thing losing its head with a long sigh. The plate in his hands joins the nightstand and he silences the alarm himself. Then, he’s grabbing a pillow.

Before it can reach his face, Jisung catches it, the force smacking against his palm. Felix grins at him sympathetically, letting it go and inviting himself to sit at the end of the bed. Jisung can’t find the energy to speak first.

“I know it sucks, Sung, but today is the last final!” A pat at his knee, “It’ll all be over soon.”

But it won’t. It won’t be over soon. Because the day will just reset and repeat and he’ll wake up to the screaming alarm and sweaty covers every day for weeks to come. The world around him stuck inside a constant loop and he’s the only one who knows.

Well, Minho knows. At least, he seems to. But he isn’t entirely sure Minho is anything but a figment of his imagination, a product of his delusions. Should he see a doctor? Is he losing his mind? Is he the only one who seems to think the day is repeating?

“Felix…” He chokes on the name. Everything begins to overwhelm him all at once. The covers are too hot, the air outside of them is too cold. He doesn’t want to lie here all day but he might cry if Felix makes him go to that exam. He wishes today’s shower wouldn’t turn cold, wishes today’s shirt wasn’t stained with green paint. He wishes this loop would stop. He wishes it would all stop.

“Oh, Sung.” Felix’s arms wrap around his shoulders, his head pulled into his best friend’s chest. “It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

For the first time in several years, he cries. He whimpers and wails into his friend’s shirt like a toddler clinging to their mother. He cried like an adult, exhausted and emotionally drained. Nobody would believe him.

He cries for a good hour and he will definitely miss his exam, but it’s not something he cares about. He’ll have his seventh shot at that stupid exam tomorrow. For right now, he manages to pull himself from his covers and walk into his bathroom where he climbs into the shower and—

It’s not cold. It doesn’t  _ turn  _ cold either. He stays under the water for way longer than fifteen minutes. But it’s not cold. His body is covered in warmth, skin burned red from the heat. It’s not cold. It should be cold.

He stumbles out of the shower, a towel loosely around his hips. His laundry is still not done, but the t-shirt he has—the one that should be stained with green—is not. It’s black. Pure black.

He dresses quickly, but desperately, panic crawling through his veins. The headache is back again, the splitting one that made him want to remove his brain for good. That’s a sign, though he doesn’t know what it’s a sign for. 

He has to find Minho.

“I’ll be back in like twenty minutes, I just have to check something.” Jisung shouts to Felix as he shrugs on a jacket, keys rattling in his hand as he runs out of their door and down the stairs. His legs carry him as fast as he’ll go to the bus stop, bouncing with every jolt the bus makes. 

He flies off at the stop, hardly even acknowledging the people complaining behind him. He makes a beeline for the bookstore, his headache only continuing to grow worse the closer he gets. That’s a sign.

He runs and runs and runs until he stops right in front of the doors.

Only to see a large sign directly on the front door.

_ Permanently Closed. _

The inside is bare. No shelves, no lights, no books. No Minho. Jisung pulls at the door with everything in him, but it doesn’t budge. It’s locked. He’s gone. 

Minho is gone. 

+++

December 4th. 

The weather forecast foresees snow, the steadily dropping temperature sure to let it stick. Pedestrians walk the busy New York streets on their way to their life-consuming jobs, empty look in their eyes and full cups of coffee in their hands. Traffic is already backed up, curses flying from the mouths of taxi drivers and business men. 

It’s the seventh day in a row this exact scene has taken place. It’s the seventh day when Han Jisung can no longer force himself to try and stop the cycle. A week has passed of nothing but the same ordinary day repeating itself over and over until nothing is left to gain. With the disappearance of his friend, Jisung is entirely alone in his struggle.

Felix tries to be there for him, but he can’t possibly understand the reasoning behind Jisung’s monotone thanks when he accepts his breakfast of eggs and toast. His shower was cold again today, his shirt stained green once more. Yesterday was a fluke in the program and he’s convinced whatever higher power is up there is toying with him. 

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. 

He doesn’t search for Minho today. Instead, he takes the bus he’s supposed to take, let’s the kid fall on his back when his shoelace trips him up, arrives at his classroom with barely enough time to spare to find a seat. He sits next to the kid he’s supposed to, asks for a pen the way he’s supposed to.

He answers the questions he knows he knew the first time he took this test and nothing more. And then, he sits and stares at the blank wall until he nearly drives himself to madness. 

Chan is as happy as ever to see him. He’s always happy to see Jisung, to sell him coffee and a pastry. He’s supposed to be happy, because that’s what happens today. However many “todays” there are. 

He goes home and takes the nap he’s supposed to, let’s his mother nearly hurt herself in her own vanity when she calls to update him of her situation. Felix returns with his boyfriend, Hyunjin, and Jisung at least acts surprised to meet him like he’s supposed to.

If the universe wants him to live the same day over and over until his head explodes, then he’ll live it like he’s supposed to. He’ll live it until he can’t stand to say the same things every day, until he can’t stand to live it anymore.

Like he’s supposed to.

He intentionally puts his whites and reds together and watches as his shirt is dyed pink. He still likes pink. It’s still okay. 

The dinner with Hyunjin is still newer to him. He hasn’t been doing it every day, so he can at least find some joy in the other’s jokes, even if they all sound familiar and he can predict the punchline of most of them. He genuinely likes Hyunjin. What a shame he’ll never get to truly know him. He'll just meet him, every day.

And like he’s supposed to, he’ll take a bathroom break that fills his heart with envy and steps outside as the gentle snow falls. He feels the pull in his chest like he did in the very beginning of these days, but he doesn’t ignore or acknowledge it. It’s there, it’s supposed to be there. 

He’s slammed into, braces himself against the wall without surprise to prevent a fall. And he almost doesn’t expect to see Minho’s wild eyes when he looks up, but there he is. Of course he’s here today. He’s supposed to be.

“I knew it.” Minho whispers, pulling his hood down and gripping Jisung’s shoulders. “I knew it was you.”

He wasn’t supposed to say that. 

Before any response can form on Jisung’s tongue, he’s being ripped down the alley by Minho’s hand securing his wrist. His hood is back over his face, shielding him from the public eye. This isn’t supposed to happen, but Jisung doesn’t have it within him to fight. 

They walk several blocks, hands linked together at some point during. Jisung isn’t complaining but he knows this isn’t supposed to happen. Minho pulls him into the restaurant they went to back during the third day, the first they had officially met. That was four days ago. That was today.

Minho spins around to look at him the second the door closes behind him. 

“I need you to tell me everything you know.” He speaks hurriedly, panicked and for a moment, Jisung is concerned. He shouldn’t be, Minho obviously is much more capable than he is. He watches in silence as the elder moves about the empty restaurant, pulling the blinds down over the windows before he can safely drop his hood.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I’m stuck in a time loop, but I have a feeling you know about that.” His words make Minho visibly wince, but he doesn’t dare take them back. He’s exhausted, utterly tired of living this day. He wants answers, even if Minho can’t give them to him.

“Yesterday. You did something that changed everything, you controlled it. I need to know how much you know.” 

Minho paces around the shop, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He watches his shoes roll over the light wood of the floor, never making eye contact with Jisung. It would be worrying, if Jisung wasn’t so drained. 

“Control it? What is  _ it?”  _ He raises an eyebrow, though he knows Minho won’t see from the way he analyzes his own shoes. The pacing never stops, and Minho’s efforts seem to double.

“I can’t tell you. I’m not supposed to tell you.” Mumbled phrases start falling from his lips so quickly it sounds like another language. His feet get quicker, his breathing frantic and Jisung begins to wonder whether or not he should say something. “I can’t tell you. I can't  _ tell  _ you. Oh, Changbin will kill me for this, but it’s not technically against the rules. Yes. Yes, that’ll do it.”

Jisung’s mouth opens, perhaps to question Minho's erratic behavior, but he doesn’t get a single syllable past his lips. Minho latches onto his wrist, his other hand securing the back of Jisung’s neck and pulling their faces close. Eyes locked, Jisung starts to fade and suddenly, his vision is overtaken by flashing images.

_ It’s as if he’s watching someone’s life played out before him. He feels his lips move and speak sentences that aren't his own. The voice doesn’t belong to him, it’s older and gruff.  _

_ The setting around him nothing like anything he’s ever seen before. It’s bright, covered in yellow and white glow, but there’s darkness surrounding that glow. He starts to realize that the glowing balls of light are… not exactly people, but beings of some sort. They speak to him.  _

_ “I cannot continue to allow this. The Keeper has proven his incompetence with this one, I will not allow him to expose us to a human!” The voice is higher in pitch, but he cannot pinpoint which glow it emits from. There is a whirring noise and he feels his body begin to shift along with it.  _

_ “He is not entirely human anymore, Ryujin.” Another voice says, this time slightly deeper and resembling a more masculine tone.  _

_ “Well, he is not one of us either. Our safety comes first, Jongho, you must understand this.” A third voice joins in. It’s elegant, formal and practiced. He feels his posture straightens when they speak, as if intimidated by their presence alone. _

_ “I agree with Seulgi. He is within the transitional period, but he could very well endanger us if he discovers more than he is meant to know before the time is right.” This voice is one he recognizes, but the recognition isn’t his own. A thought that isn’t his presents itself to him. Wheein.  _

_ “The issue here is that he is not transitioning fast enough. He was not chosen naturally, he was chosen far too quickly and was unprepared. He could destroy us if he discovers his own power before he is anointed.” Another one he knows. Changkyun. _

_ “If I may.” The chatter amongst the other glowing lights ceases when the last of them, Namjoon, speaks, “I believe we are not to worry. The boy recognizes his situation is abnormal and he has taken notice of The Keeper’s extraordinary talents. Yet, not a word of them has been uttered to those within his life. He was indeed a quick candidate, but with a few more years, he could have been chosen naturally just the same.” _

_ “He has not yet spoken of The Keeper because he is well aware that he would not be believed.” Ryujin tsks, “How do we ensure he will continue to stay silent?” _

_ “You should ask him.” A shift occurs once more and Jisung can feel himself—his vessel—being observed by the other glowing masses. Immediately, he is tempted to exit, but is unsure how. _

_ “Jisung. Are you willing to join us?”  _

_ He’s fading, fading, fading. _

_ He is once again someone else. His legs are moving, faster than his can. The body he inhabits is exhausted, frightened, he knows that much. He isn’t sure why, but he has to keep running.  _

_ Ducked into an alleyway, the voice that isn’t his calls out a name as it turns a corner, the feeling of someone right on his heels forcing his legs to burn as he runs faster. Another corner and this is an alleyway he recognizes.  _

_ The alleyway just off of the back door to the restaurant he spends his evenings at with Felix and Hyunjin. His body continues to run even as a figure steps out of the door and watches the snow fall around them, unaware of the person speeding towards them. And then, they collide. _

_ Something shifts in that moment. He feels it deep within, but he cannot name the feeling. It’s not painful, just numbing. The body recovers and he is met staring at his own face, his own wide eyes.  _

_ “I’m sorry.” The voice that isn’t his says.  _

_ “It’s alright.” He—the other Jisung—says. _

The feeling of his knees hitting the ground is entirely his own. His lungs have been stripped from their air, chest heaving as he gasps for a single steady breath. His head is pounding, worse than it has before. The ringing in his ears is back.

Vaguely, he can hear arguing and the sound of something breaking. He can’t think of anything else right now, other than getting the hell out of there. His shaking hand secures the doorknob and he twists with all his might to push it open, stumbling to his feet and bracing himself against the building as he staggers down the street. 

He only makes it halfway across the street before he realizes he doesn’t know where he is and he’s pulled along with the crowd around him to the other crosswalk. Immediately, his face meets concrete and his body doesn’t have the strength to pull himself up. He wishes he were closer to his apartment.

His eyes close and not even two seconds later, the noise around him fades. Jisung assumes he’s passing out, or dying, but the gentle shake on his shoulder suggests otherwise.

“Sir? Are you alright?” 

He opens his eyes to find a young woman standing over him, her eyes kind and soft as she regards him. There’s a pinch between her brows, concern written deep in the frown she wears. Her voice is oddly familiar.

“I’m alright.” He slurs and though he struggles, he manages to get to his feet. 

“Do you live around here?” The young woman asks and Jisung’s brain cannot put a name to her face or voice. It doesn’t really matter, he just wants to go home and forget all about this.

“I don’t—“ He stops himself short when he glances up at the street name. Slowly, he turns and finds himself staring right at his apartment building. No fucking way. “Yeah. I do.”

“Can you get there safely? Do I need to call someone?” 

“No. No, I-I live right there, but…” He doesn’t know what to say. He’s well aware that anything he says will make him sound like a fucking maniac, but it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing about this makes any sense.

“I’ll stand here and make sure you cross the street safely.” The woman smiles at him and it’s so pure and white that he can’t even force himself to be wary of her. He knows he shouldn’t be so trusting of a complete stranger, but there is something about her that is so honest.

“Thank you, miss.” 

“Call me Somin.” She smiles again, and holds her hand out in a gesture for Jisung to walk. He bows to her and walks as quickly as his body will let him across the street. He reaches the other side safely and when he turns around to bow once again, Somin is gone.

Just another strange incident of the day.

His apartment is dark, but not empty when he opens the front door. Felix stands in the kitchen with his cellphone pressed to his ear and a glass of water in his hand, immediately dropping his phone when Jisung approaches. In an instant, he’s enveloped in a hug.

“Where have you been?” Felix whispers directly into his ear. Ah. He had disappeared during dinner. 

“I stepped out for a bit.” He mumbles back, pulling away from the hug and scratching the back of his neck, “Bumped into an old friend who wanted to catch up. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Felix scoffs and grins with a pointed look at a sleeping Hyunjin on their couch. “He wanted to go out drinking, but he knocked out after two drinks.” 

Felix is an overall happy person, but Jisung has never seen a more genuine smile on his face than when he looks at the other boy. He wonders how they met, how long they’ve been together, but he knows he won’t get the answers to those things now. He’ll have plenty of time to ask all of his silly questions. 

“I’m sure you’ll take great care of him.” Jisung pats his friend on the shoulder, “I’m really tired, I’m going to go to bed.” 

Felix nods and hugs him one last time before sending him off and Jisung has never been so glad to see his bed before in his life. His body cannot stand for another moment when he lays his eyes on it and he passes out the second he pulls the covers over his body.

+++

People end up in time loops because they failed to do the thing they were supposed to do. The reason the day repeats so many times is because they continue failing to complete that task.

Jisung isn’t sure what his task is. It could be anything. It could be like in the movies, where his purpose is to die at the end. It could be a life lesson, a sign to relight what he thought was the scorched candle that was his relationship with his parents. It could be just the universe deciding to fuck with him, bevause out of all the theories, it seems the most possible.

It could be anything. But he’s going to find it. And he’s dead tired of guessing.

The tug is there this morning and he ignores all other things to follow it. It leads him right past his parents’ hotel and right to the front of the bookstore, where Minho sits inside with a single book in his hands. This is it. This is the answer.

“I can control the world around me.” Jisung announces himself with such a bold sentence and effectively grabs Minho’s attention. “All I have to do is want it hard enough and it changes. I control that, I do that.”

Minho sets the book down carefully, moving past Jisung to flip the sign on the door and pull down the blinds. He beckons Jisung to the very back of the store, where a little set-up of couches and chairs sit. Jisung sits in one of the chairs.

“What else?” Minho crosses his legs, seemingly too calm for someone who was losing it the day before. 

“You’re not human.” Jisung says with almost certainty. Minho blinks in surprise, but recovers fairly quickly. He hums, non-committal and non-affirmative. 

“Then what am I if not human?” It’s a question meant to test Jisung’s knowledge, they both know that. The truth is, Jisung doesn’t know. He can’t say for sure what Minho is and isn't, because he’s so many things and yet he’s none of them. He’s everything and nothing at the same time. The enigma he’s been trying to understand for over a week.

“You’re a being of some sort, but your qualities are more than a humans.” He recalls an earlier conversation, the way Minho refers to himself, the way the committee of glowing masses spoke of someone and suddenly, he knows. It doesn’t make any sense, but he knows. “You’re the Keeper.”

“That I am.” Minho’s grin is like a cat’s, close to cheshire in every semblance of it. His eyes dance with darkness and mirth, a beautiful picture of the unknown meeting the obvious. “Tell me, Jisung. Are you human?”

Temptation tells him to say yes, but there’s a thought lingering in the very back of his mind that stops him. Had the conversation he overheard between the glowing masses been about him? Had it been about another? No. Namjoon had addressed him directly. He is no longer fully human.

“I don’t believe I am.” He replies and Minho seems most pleased by this response. The chair creaks under his weight, a long groan following as he shifts forward. 

“Think about something for me, Jisung.” Minho presses the tips of two fingers to Jisung’s forehead. “What changed when you asked it to?”

“Everything. My location, the paint on my shirt, just little things.” His headache seems to fade a little. 

“Those things were altered. What do they all contribute to?”

“My day?” Jisung blinks without meaning to, unsure of the exact question he’s being asked. His headache eases slightly more upon answering and he struggles to find out why. 

“Not your day, Jisung. Something even your day is a part of.” Minho’s fingers press deeper into the skin of his forehead, drilling harder and harder. He wills him to remember, to just say the word.

“My life? My existence?” He’s grasping at straws, unsure of where he goes from here. “My reality?”

A cord snaps. 

Jisung’s back hits the chair, hearing distantly as Minho does the same. Pain shoots up his spine, but his head fogs and eyes begin to sting. The commotion around him does not belong to the serene scenery of the bookstore, though he can’t open his eyes for more than a second to observe. There is nothing but red.

A subtle glow creeps in the corners of his closed eyes. His pain has faded, though a new soreness threatens his body. He doesn’t dare to move a muscle.

“If he died, I will be rather disappointed.” A voice he recognizes speaks in a deep tone. He’s almost sure it’s Jongho. 

“He has not. I can hear his heart.” Seulgi—he’s almost positive that voice belongs to her—says. 

Jisung opens his eyes then, a blinding white light hanging overhead. His back is flat against something hard, and he briefly wonders who’s floor he’s passed out on. Head lolling to the side, he sees a young woman with choppy blue hair staring at him. He’s on a table.

“Welcome back to the life of the living, Reality.” A man with dark hair and an even darker gaze smirks at him from the very end of the table. Changkyun. 

The entire room is bathed in white. White chairs surrounded a white table, each of the guests decorated in the color. The glowing masses have human forms and this seems to be them.

“It is going to be a lot to explain, so I prefer to show you.” Wheein smiles at him, perhaps the most generous smile he’s been offered by the members of this table. She raises her hand to an empty wall opposite of them and it lights up with an image.

It’s the same alley he had seen in whatever Minho showed him, only this time from a third point of view. The man running has an angular face, rather sharp and clean and eyes deep and stern. He’s older than Jisung, possibly by a few years. The only irregularity is that he’s running right towards Jisung, right where Minho bumps into him that night, but Jisung has never seen this man in his life. 

He’s running, another right on his heels, when he snaps his fingers. His face changes then, morphing into the one he’s spent hours admiring. Minho crashes into him that night, only it isn’t Minho at all. It’s his face, but another man.

He watches their exchange with an analytical eye, trying to find any tricks of the light or camera angles that could possibly be at fault. There are none. 

“Let’s play it back a second.” Wheein instructs and the makeshift screens roll back. The tape rolls again and Jisung watches as his fingers snap and his face transforms once more. When he collides with Jisung, his hand falls right on Jisung’s bicep. 

“The point of transfer was right there.” Wheein gently touches his bicep, right in the place that he was grabbed. That brief contact is what began the time loop, what began his transition into something non-human. He understands now. Except… 

“Wait. Why did he use Minho’s face?” He can’t find any logical reasoning for that. He didn’t know Minho at that time.

“Because you needed to seek me out when things began to loop.” A new voice enters their conversation, owned by Minho himself. He strides in the room in all white, clad head-to-head in a fancy suit. His hair is brushed back from his forehead and styled neatly.

“What’s the purpose of the loop anyway?” 

“Your transition from human to Reality took eight days. That is very impressive for someone who we weren't even sure would survive the transfer.” Minho skips right past that part, not offering any further explanation on it. “You see, the person chasing Youngsoo here is from another universe, a Hunter.”

“They feed on elements of other universes.” Ryujin butts in, a lock of blue hair twirled around her finger. “Youngsoo got caught and had to think quickly. He made the decision to rid himself of his power to protect it. He chose the first person he saw.”

“You are one lucky bastard, Han Jisung.” Seulgi laughs, brushing her bangs out of her face. “The power is almost impossible to be contained by someone fully human. In fact, we thought you would die for sure.”

“That is why we became concerned when you began to bleed and have headaches.” Jongho fills in, “It would be quite the mess to clean. The time loop was to ensure your transition was complete without complication.” 

“Has it?” He looks to Minho when he asks this question and the elder gives him a wide smile.

“Yes, it has. But you must be aware of the rule here.” 

“The minute we exit the physical world, we lose all memory of who we are within it.” It is Ryujin speaking, her voice less disappointed than usual, “In order to protect our identities, we have no knowledge of this realm and who we are when we are present in the physical world. In the celestial center, I am Ryujin, controller of Space. In the physical world, I am Ryujin, a woman who I know nothing about and who knows nothing about me.”

“Is this like a double life?” Jisung inquires and a laugh bubbles from Minho at the head of the table.

“Somewhat.” He grins again like a cat. “It’s such a double life that not even you have knowledge of it. In the physical world, you know nothing of what you control and who your fellow elementals are. You only have knowledge of another realm and you know you cannot speak of it. In the center, you know of the physical world, but not who you are and who is around you.”

“For example, I could be best friends with Ryujin in the physical world, but I would have no knowledge of it the moment I entered this place.” Seulgi’s voice is calming, careful as if trying to phrase it in a way he would understand.

“And now that you’re one of us, the moment you leave here, it will be the same for you.” Changkyun gestures to the empty seat beside him, smug expression tightened into a smile. 

“So, Jisung, controller of Reality, will you join us?”

+++

It’s December 4th.

The crisp cold lingers in the air around the patrons of New York, promising snowfall by evening. The sun has just greeted the city over the horizon, bidding the moon goodbye as it returns to its other side. The people who crowd the streets do not worry about the day, only the time. 

It’s six in the morning.

Red numbers flash on an electronic screen, a horrible dull scream erupting as soon as the clock turns over. A groan fills the room alongside it, escaping the throat of a nineteen-year-old Korean-American boy named Han Jisung. 

Silk sheets join a crumpled duvet in a pile at the very foot of Han Jisung’s bed. His body is slick with sweat, but he welcomes the cold rush of air to it. Blurry vision clears as he blinks mindlessly at the ceiling, the weak sunlight from the window lighting up the room and filling him with energy. The wooden floor doesn’t feel as cold under his feet as it normally does, in fact, it’s welcome. 

He walks to the bathroom, finding a brand new tube of toothpaste sitting on the counter next to his toothbrush. He takes a nice shower, longer than he usually does because the warm water soothes his aching muscles. Endless nights spent bent over his desk chair finally pays off today. Finals ends today. 

His roommate did their laundry this morning by the looks of it, a nice pair of jeans and a red sweater at the top of his basket. He pulls both over his head and makes his way into the kitchen, where his roommate, Felix, flips a pancake onto a plate. 

He leaves the apartment at 6:42 and boards the bus to campus with an extra bounce in his step. Today is going to be a good day, he can feel it. 

“Watch your step.” He says to the kid behind him as they get off the bus. The boy thanks him as he carefully steps down and avoids crashing down into Jisung and the pavement.

Jisung makes it to his lecture hall at 6:50, bag heavy on his shoulder. His first instinct is to sit next to a boy near the front, whose glasses and white t-shirt paint him as friendly. However, he’s drawn to a seat further back, on the very end next to another boy. He’s moving before he knows it.

“Pardon me, is this seat taken?” One hand resting on the back of the chair, the other gripping his bag, he barely manages to steady himself when the stranger looks up at him. His eyes are beautiful.

“No, not at all.” The stranger smiles and gestures to the seat, something dubious about his features. 

“Thank you so much. You just saved my life.” 

“Do you need a pen?” 

An odd question, but Jisung supposes the boy is just trying to be nice and make small talk. He wonders if sitting here was such a good idea, considering that he’s about to take his final and be expected not to be distracted by the boy beside him. 

“Oh no, I think I have—“ He stops, hand moving about the bottom of his bag. “On second thought, I do. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” 

A blue pen lands in his hand, decorated with little clocks. It’s a cute design, and he noticed the boy writing with a purple one with crowns. Their eyes meet again and Jisung is hit with a strange thought.

_ Does he know?  _

Does he know what Jisung is? Who he is? That doesn’t make sense. Why would this random boy know anything about that? 

_ Does he remember me? _

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” Jisung blurts, too confused by his own mind to worry about how it sounds. “You seem familiar.”

“Do I?” The twinkle in the boy’s eye isn't very reassuring, but Jisung can’t place what it is that makes him so uneasy. “I don’t think we have. Must just be a weird case of deja vu.”

“Probably.” He sighs, turning back to his notes. “I’m so tired these days, I hardly know what I look like anymore. I’m Jisung.”

The stranger smiles.

“My name is Minho.”

  
  


Thought I had it right but I'm still lost in the light and I don’t know what night it is

I go out just so I can reforget.


End file.
